


Parental Controls

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Car Sex, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Parents, Sibling Incest, a night at the opera, cubicle sex, daddy in the way, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock came home expecting a bit of fun with his brother, only to realise he'd forgotten that they were going to the opera with their parents. But that fun's not off the table....they'll just have to slot it in somehow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parental Controls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enigmaticpenguin(ofdeath) (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Enigmaticpenguin%28ofdeath%29+%28tumblr%29), [shego1142 (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shego1142+%28tumblr%29).



> This is the first holmescest I've ever written. I was brought to this by tumblr. Much apologies. I hope you like it - btw I have no on-hand knowledge of how these things work so I read several filthy holmescest fics to impart their knowledge to me. And this is pretty filthy....

Parental Controls

Chapter one - in which Sherlock forgets and remembers 

Sherlock came through the door, noticing, as he did so, that the knocker had been straightened. Evidently his brother was home. He smiled at the knowledge; he had been hoping all along that Mycroft might be about; he was in the mood for some fun tonight. He pelted up the stairs and threw his coat down as he opened the door to his flat. Therein, he immediately noticed his brother sitting on the sofa, immaculately dressed as usual in beautiful hand-tailored suit and oxford shoes.

Sherlock grinned and walked softly over, leaning over the back of the sofa and looping his arms languidly about Mycroft’s neck. His brother gave an irritable little sound and pushed him off. Sherlock whisked round the sofa, an injured expression on his face.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Mycroft?” he asked, in a tone of mock-hurt.

“Of course I do.” Mycroft said, gruffly, and then, a sardonic smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, added in more his normal fashion, “But I do believe you’re forgetting something, brother mine.”

“What?” Sherlock queried, worriedly. There was a knock on the door. Sherlock whirled around, his face a mask of horror. “Oh God!” he cried. “Was that today?!” Mycroft nodded. Sherlock put his face in his hands, and ran one palm through his hair. Mycroft glanced at him and gave a little selfish smirk. Then he picked up his umbrella and, using the handle hooked around the doorknob, gave a little twist that caused the door to swing fluidly open. Sherlock stuffed his hands moodily into his pockets as the elderly couple came in.

“Sherlock! How ruggedly handsome you look, dear.” Mrs Holmes shrieked, rushing up and hugging her younger son. Mycroft grinned in the background, like a Cheshire cat. He too could see that rugged charm that Sherlock carried, all het up and fretting as he was. “And Mikey!” she exclaimed, running at her older boy and embracing him as well. Then it was Sherlock’s turn to snigger quietly as his brother was crushed. Mycroft gave him a menacing glare from his prone position; Sherlock would pay for this later.

Mr Holmes senior remained in the doorway, smiling sheepishly at his children. “Now, Sherrykins,” Mrs Holmes continued, releasing Mycroft and turning on Sherlock. “I don’t know whether you forgot or got mixed up or what but you simply _cannot_ come out to the opera dressed like that. Let me help you change!” She pushed him forward, bustling efficiently towards his bedroom as Sherlock made protests of outraged manhood.

A few minutes later they emerged, Mrs Holmes dusting off her hands and Sherlock dressed grudgingly if not unbecomingly in a suit given him two Christmases ago by his brother (Mycroft added a mental note that Sherlock in a good suit was a surprisingly pretty sight and ought to be added to the inventory of future ideas).

“Shall we be off, then?” Mycroft asked, straightening out his jacket lapels and brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from one exquisite cuff. There was general assent and, pausing only to pick up his umbrella, the elder of the Holmes Juniors led the way to the waiting car, its engine still thrumming.

As they got in and began the drive, Mycroft was forced into small talk with their parents. Sherlock, on the other hand, somehow managed to escape this, and instead found himself spending his time remembering the last time he had been in this car.

_They had been coming back from the theatre, having been to see Macbeth at the National. Front row seats to a world renowned and, indeed, cinematised performance. It had been a good enough piece, plenty of blood and blasted heaths, but seeing the seduction between Macbeth and his Lady had left both the brothers feeling that something was lacking. And so, when they got into the back of the car, shielded from the view of passers-by and the driver, they decided to take advantage of the opportunity._

_Mycroft looked at his brother, head cocked on one side. “You look wanting, Sherlock. What is it?”_

_“You know what it is.” Sherlock’s reply came, curt and truthful._

_“I do indeed.” Mycroft purred. “Here?” he asked. “Now?” Sherlock nodded and leaned forward to unbutton his brother’s shirt. Mycroft put out a hand to stop him. “Even with the traffic and the longer route I ordered, there won’t be time for that.” Instead, he himself reached forward and unzipped Sherlock’s bulging trousers, pulling down his boxers to reveal his cock, readily erect and pulsating in his brother’s cold touch. Mycroft grinned._

_Sherlock gave him a withering look and pulled down his perfectly tailored pinstriped trousers and rather risqué briefs to reveal Mycroft’s erection, to rival his brother’s. Mycroft gave a shake of his head and carefully removed the trousers and pants, smoothing them down. “Careful now.” he said, as he folded them and placed them on the seat. “Those are expensive.” This said, he pressed a barely-visible button and a concealed compartment opened in the seat. Mycroft removed the condoms and small bottle of lube and passed them to Sherlock, who applied both to himself, and rubbed some of the lubricant onto his brother._

_“Now, brother dear, lie back and enjoy it.” the younger Holmes murmured. Mycroft did so, lying facing down on the surprisingly soft floor of the car (it was kept this way for a reason)._

_Then he let out something between a gasp and a moan as his younger brother sunk into his arse, the hard cock coming ever further into Mycroft. Mycroft shut his eyes and gasped as Sherlock hit his prostate, the movement apparently sending judders up his spine. “Oh God….” he moaned. “Sherlock…”_

_Sherlock smiled in the darkness and moved out, and in again, jerking and bucking his hips in rhythm to the jolting of the car against the road. It was a beautiful feeling, to have his brother’s lithe freckled body beneath him, to be inside this man so like him… He leaned forward and kissed the nape of Mycroft’s neck. “Harder?” he queried. Mycroft nodded._

_Sherlock hefted himself up and plunged into his brother, who writhed beneath the motion. And then Sherlock slid in and out again, quickening the pace and pushing himself harder and harder, stressing and straining with it. He began to pound his brother mercilessly, his body arching and relenting ceaselessly. Mycroft’s breathing became laboured and Sherlock could feel the muscles tense beneath him. Pushing himself, he gave one more grinding thrust into his brother, and felt it on his legs as Mycroft came, warm and sticky, onto the floor of the car._

_“Damn.” Mycroft said. “And I’d just had this cleaned.”_

_“Not to worry.” Sherlock replied. “Give me a moment…” Saying this, he drove home one more time, and heard his brother moan heavily with the pleasure of it. This was just enough to tip him over the edge. His muscles quivered and then he came, thickly, into the rubber of the condom._

_“Sherlock – oh_ Gods _!” Mycroft cried._

_“What is it?” Sherlock asked, as he unhooked his body from his brother’s and crawled round._

_“The condom split a bit. There’s some of you still inside me.” Mycroft explained._

_“Sorry…”_

_“No. That’s a good thing… I like to have reminders of you.” he laughed, as he did only so rarely._

_“Now to deal with that problem of bits of you being all over the floor,” Sherlock said. “I have a solution to that issue.”_

_“Oh, do you?”_

_“Of course.” Sherlock bent his head down and lapped up the white viscous liquid, savouring the taste of his brother on his tongue…._

…And was pulled back to reality as the car came to a stop just outside the opera house. 


End file.
